


Boys Will Be Boys

by Hakkaiduo



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Crack, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hakkaiduo/pseuds/Hakkaiduo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur, the dear boy, was running as if the very beasts of hell were following him. Though, the sight of a manic Martin and demented Douglas bowling after you might make you think so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boys Will Be Boys

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago for the prompt meme: http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/3282.html?thread=4342738#cmt4342738 
> 
> This is my first Cabin Pressure fic. Any comments and critiques are very very welcome.

Carolyn, after years of practice, learned how to shut out the noises of the rest of the MJN crew while sitting in her office on standby. Every once in awhile a certain phrase would filter through as she sat there, attempting to balance the accounts. 

“Arthur!” Martin’s voice rang out. Well that was normal. No need for worry.

“No, Arthur. Give it to me,” Douglas’ voice barked out. Now that was a bit odd. 

Just as Carolyn decided to ignore the strange ways of pilots and go back to annoying paperwork, there was a loud crash. Alright, that was it. If they decided to destroy her portacabin, then it was time for them to get reacquainted with the Alpha Dog. 

The good talking to that she had prepared died on her lips as she left her office and saw the scene before her unfold. Poor Arthur was in the middle of the office in between the two small desks of the pilots, clutching a small black book to his chest. His head whipped back and forth, looking at the two pilots corning him on both sides. 

On his right, Douglas was slowly trying to move closer, easing his way between his desk and overturned chair. 

On the left, Martin looked as if he was about to hurdle over his own chair. Carolyn was slightly disturbed by the manic look in his eye. 

None of the boys seemed to notice their new audience. 

“Arthur,” Martin said in a horrible attempt at calmness. “Arthur, give me the book,”

“Uh,” Arthur slowly began to climb onto the rickety chair that sat in between the two desks. “I don’t know Skip...”

“Arthur!” Douglas barked again, causing the younger man to jump slightly and jerk toward the pilot, who was much closer than before. “Arthur, give it to me. Give it to me now,”

Carolyn watched for a few minutes as each pilot crept closer to the steward, trying to convince him to give whatever he had to them. Just as she was about to step in, stop this childish behavior and force them to clean up her wrecked office, Arthur had apparently had enough. In a leap so impressive, Carolyn was shocked that her son managed it, Arthur vaulted over Martin’s desk, scattering papers everywhere and bolted out the door, the little book clutched to his chest like he was playing rugby. 

At once, both Douglas and Martin darted for the door. Carolyn winced as she watched them both fight to get through the small doorway at the same time. She silently cheered as Martin, with his much smaller frame, slithered out, leaving Douglas to stumble slightly before pursuing.  
Shaking her head, Carolyn slowly walked to the door. 

Arthur, the dear boy, was running as if the very beasts of hell were following him. Though, she conceded, the sight of a manic Martin and demented Douglas bowling after you might make you think so. 

It was as the three boys darted across the small section of the airfield that housed MJN, that Carolyn began to see a clear winner emerge. 

Douglas, not so many years behind her, and not in the greatest of shape, began to run less and wheeze more. 

Arthur, her darling son, wasn’t exactly supremely physically fit either. However, it seemed his sheer energy that powered his cheeriness went into keeping him running.

Martin, not too surprisingly, with his manual labour job and slight body, was quickly gaining on Arthur, closing in bit by bit. 

It happened rather quickly after that. 

With a loud yell, Martin leaped as he aimed for Arthur in a desperate attempt. 

With a startled yelp, Arthur fell as Martin barrelled into him from behind.

With a another wince, Carolyn watched as captain and steward slammed into the tarmac, the little black book tumbling out of Arthur’s hand and skidding to a halt a few meters before the two idiots. 

Thinking that the display couldn’t get any worse, Carolyn groaned as it did. Both from the frankly juvenile antics and from her lack of a video camera, as this would have made excellent ammunition for the next time Martin got snippy again about his ‘professionalism’ 

Not content to have tackled her son to the ground, Martin began to scramble after the book. Arthur, in a sense of defense or just plain having fun, Carolyn wasn’t sure, also began to struggle after the book. Both of them wrestling each other in their efforts. 

In a way that was very decidedly _un_ professional, Martin crawled on top of Arthur, his hand yanking the steward’s hair. The pilot then shoved his foot into Arthur’s shoulder, bending in a way Carolyn never would have thought he could manage, using it as leverage to propel himself forward. 

Finally, after rolling around on the ground with not much care for his normally immaculate uniform, Martin’s hands closed around the little black book. Surging to his feet, he held it up with a triumphant roar.

“Yes! I’ve got it!” He huffed, jumping slightly in victory. 

Arthur just groaned a bit from the ground, wheezing and catching his breath. 

Douglas, who Carolyn rather thought was down and out a while ago, suddenly appeared. Carolyn laughed as she noticed he was still quite winded. 

“Martin. Give that back, it’s mine,” the older man growled. 

Martin began to hastily back away, which betrayed the smug tone he was attempting to adopt. “Now, now Douglas, you know very well that if this was mine, you would do anything to read it,”

“Yes I would,” The First Officer confirmed. “Because we have already established that it’s funny when it happens to _you_ ,”

Bored now that the main chase was over, Carolyn was starting to get a bit fed up. It was when she watched Arthur gingerly approach the other two with clear footprints on his shirt, she decided to step in. Enough was enough. 

“Ha Ha” Martin continued to taunt, holding the book open. His eyes darted between it and Douglas, who was still advancing toward him. “Let’s see. Page o- Hey!”

Carolyn looked down at the book she snatched from the pilot’s hand, really the boy was terrible at watching his back. She was curious as to how a small little black book could cause all this fuss. Ignoring Douglas’ protests, she opened it to the title page. There was a small printed label that declared this book was a Journal and under that, written in neat handwriting was the phrase ‘of Douglas Richardson,’

Oh. _Oh_. Wasn’t this _lovely_.

“Carolyn, now if you would please give that back,” Douglas said, putting on his full charm. 

She took in the state of the three boys.

Douglas was still breathing heavily, sweating profusely. His tie was all askew, and his shirt half untucked. 

Arthur had a large scrape down the side of his face where it undoubtedly met tarmac. That, along with mussed hair and footprints on his clothes where Martin decided to create hand and foot holds whilst clambering across the poor lad, almost made Carolyn feel a touch of sympathy for her son. Almost.  
Martin had his shirt completely mussed. What used to be a crisp white, was now stained with dirt and sweat. His tie was completely missing and there was a small hole in a knee of his trousers. 

_Boys_ Carolyn internally huffed. 

“I think I will keep it,” she declared, continuing before anyone could protest. “After my portacabin is cleaned up, and my crew back to looking like an actual crew of an airplane and _not_ like a bunch of rough-housing hooligans, _maybe_ , I will give it back-”

“Great,” Douglas said. 

“You didn’t let me finish. I will give it to whoever I see fit to have it. This is a precious commodity. It shall go to the best man,” With a grin, Carolyn went back to her office, little black book tightly in her hands. She anticipated each pilot trying to charm her into giving them the journal. Maybe she could milk a few pleasant flights out of it. 

As she sat back down in her office chair, gladly enjoying the sounds of her pilots bickering and Arthur laughing as they put the cabin back into some semblance of order, she pushed aside her account books. Depressing work like that could wait for a few hours. Right now, she settled herself in, propped her feet up and prepared to enjoy a bit of reading.


End file.
